


War Song

by svecounia



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 21:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4802096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svecounia/pseuds/svecounia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Citadel's sole musician, the Doof Warrior becomes the de facto music instructor to the Five Wives of the Immortan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War Song

Capable could see Toast's nose wrinkle out of the corner of her eye as he slouched into the room behind Joe. Even Toast had the sense to hide her disdain whenever the Immortan visited, an exhausting defense mechanism they'd all instinctively adopted, but Joe caught her expression and rumbled a laugh that churned Capable's stomach. Beside her, Cheedo shifted uncomfortably and clutched the Dag's arm harder. Angharad's face was unreadable, chin lifted. Capable tried to mirror it. 

"Don't be rude. Coma is here to help you put some of your finery to good use, just like I promised. Won't you like that?" Joe gestured to the piano that had sat untouched for as long as she'd lived in the Vault, covered with books and maps, more of a makeshift table for Miss Giddy's lessons than anything else. 

"It is my desire that you all sound as beautiful as you look." Joe stepped forward and pulled his thick fingers admiringly through Angharad's hair; she merely blinked and looked at Coma, his presence odd and unsettling enough to excuse her from reacting to the Immortan's affections. "Believe it or not, Coma here has a talent for discerning beauty." Another gravely chuckle, and Coma smiled, revealing yellowed, jagged teeth. Capable had never seen Joe's Doof Warrior up close, and the sight made her prefer him at a distance. Where had he come across such an odd jumpsuit? And, most disturbing of all, what had become of his eyes? Carved out? Born without them altogether? He had an awareness of the room that unsettled her deeply, as though he knew were each of them were standing without being able to see them. Blind though he was, she felt penetrated. 

"Come," Joe ordered, dropping his hand from Angharad's hair at last and beckoning for Coma as though Coma could actually see the gesture. He sauntered forward closer to the women, his grin widening as he licked his lips.

"Hands." His voice was a bare rasp, the dry grate of tires skidding on sand. 

The wives hesitated, looking to Joe for further instruction, but his eyes only crinkled in amusement. Dag caught on first and presented her hands palm up: Coma's face snapped to hers and he reached out, taking them roughly in his own. His fingers were long, nails dirty with an unmistakable rust color that looked like it'd been there so long it had stained them for good. His fingers drew through Dag's shaking ones, and he smiled up at her, pleased.

"Long. Brittle, but they will grow strong. Keys. Next."

Cheedo drew a sharp little breath when Coma snatched up her hands. He held them for much longer than he'd held the Dag's, scowling to himself, and he yanked her forward after a minute's evaluation. She let out a yelp, trying to pull her hands back, but Coma laughed and dropped them himself.

"Ha, there we are. Vocals."

Angharad's hands didn't seem to please him too much either, but an unexpected blow to her back from his hand caused her to gasp out. "Strong lungs. Winds if you have 'em."

Capable was lucky, her examination earned her "strings" after only a few moments of Coma roughly testing the flexibility in her fingers and wrists. But Toast looked murderous by the time Coma reached her, and after only ten seconds she snatched her hands back angrily when he looked about to pull her forward as he'd done with Cheedo. "Hey!"

Coma only laughed, a harsh, parched sound. "Unsuitable. You'll have to find another way to please your Immortan, beauty."

Capable could see Joe smile behind his mask, and Toast's eyes widened in silent protest. "Wicked thing," Joe said fondly. "We'll find something for you. Don't fret."

"Miss Giddy," he addressed their teacher, turning abruptly to the vault door. "Coma will visit every so often from now on. There will be no other guard while he is here. See that they practice on their own while he is away." Miss Giddy managed a "yes, Immortan," but her eyes were fixed on Coma along with every other woman in the room, guarded and cautious. The vault door slammed behind Joe, and all at once they were locked in with this wretched, grinning thing. Capable wished he'd close his mouth. 

Silence hung heavy in the room. Coma's attention seemed held by nothing in particular, and he shuffled his feet, jamming his stained hands into the ragged pockets of his jumpsuit. "Well," he shrugged finally as though the next step should be obvious to them. "Show me."

"Come on, girls, back here," Miss Giddy supplied, and they were all grateful to turn their backs to Coma to fetch the instruments that had been hoarded and kept safe for so many years. Toast lingered behind, glaring at their intruder, undoubtedly plotting his death for whatever punishment his arbitrary dismissal had earned her. At last she huffed a sigh and marched off to a chair to watch. If she was _unsuitable,_ surely she didn't have to pay attention. 

The women returned with the instruments and gathered in a cautious circle around him. "Um. Here's what we—" Capable began, but Coma snatched the guitar from her with distressing speed, turning it over in his hands with far more care than he'd handled any of them. His fingers were spiderlike over the strings, plucking, tuning, adjusting. A visible reverence settled over him, and finally he thrust it back at her.

"This is a good instrument."

He did the same with a violin, which he made Capable hold as well, before testing the keys on a battered-looking flute for stickiness. Satisfied, he blew once into the mouthpiece but was so disgusted with the sound it produced that he shoved it back at a bewildered Cheedo as though he'd prefer to beat her with it.

"Have that melted down. More useful as some shiny bauble on the Immortan's dash."

A clarinet was next, and Coma just wheezed a laugh. "Don't happen to have any reeds, do ya?" No one shared in his amusement.

Just one plunk of a piano key and he barked at the wives to clear it off. "Barbaric," he hissed, which seemed like a bit much to Capable, who suspected those teeth had probably torn into human flesh on at least one occasion. Once they had scrambled to obey, he fluttered his fingers across each key, back and forth, then twice more, testing each foot pedal. He leaned backwards a little, chin tipped up, breath held as the last note faded into silence, and at last he frowned. "I will tune this."

Every second with Coma only solidified the wives' unspoken, collective agreement that this was by far the strangest visitor they'd had ever had in their vault, and that was a list that included Organic. They looked to Miss Giddy for help or context, but she could only purse her lips and shake her head. Coma was already back on his feet, adjusting his jumpsuit as though his appearance were suddenly important to him, and he shrugged again.

"Well. Practice. Work with what ya got. Back in two days."

He turned, hands shoved back in his pockets as he made his swaggering way back towards the vault entrance. Angharad gave an aggravated sigh. "Practice? You haven't given us anything to practice."

Coma didn't turn back, only lifted his hand and waved it dismissively. "Practice. Learn your tools. You go for a run, work on that lung strength. Skinny one should stretch her fingers. Little one shouldn't cry so much, protect her voice. Back in two days."

The vault door closed, and across the room, Toast looked at them, mouth open. "What the fuck was that?"

* * *

Torn between their hatred for doing anything unless explicitly ordered and the necessity of avoiding conflict with Joe, the wives did resolve to practice. Their efforts didn't amount to much: only Capable had tuned and functioning instruments, and two of them at that, neither of which she knew how to use. Miss Giddy did show her how to hold them both, to pluck the guitar strings and pull the bow across the violin in long, shaky notes, and Capable did her best to copy. Angharad was left with the useless flute and reedless clarinet, the former of which she twirled in her hand absentmindedly for the better part of their practice time. Dag did explore the piano a bit, her tattooed fingers flying across the keys as fast as they could, testing out different combinations, each one more dissonant than the last, and Cheedo laughed. 

"I'm glad I don't have an assignment," Toast snorted. "Don't want that stinking imp anywhere near me. Not too late to smash the rest of those instruments and be done with it." But she knew as well as any of them that rejecting the Immortan's gift of music lessons was not a risk worth taking, Toast more acutely than any of them: the threat of being singled out weighed heavily on her, and Angharad had to take her aside that first evening and speak with her alone, hushed and private. Capable had heard Toast sniffling.

* * *

Coma's second visit was very unlike the first: he slammed the vault door to announce himself, causing them all to jump, but only grunted in salutation before striding straight to the piano. He carried pliers with him, plus a length of thick fabric and several rubber-tipped bits of metal none of them recognized. The tools weren't for them, they quickly realized with relief, and his attention was fixed only on the piano, testing each key as he'd done before. This time he reached inside the hulking thing for the proper corresponding hammer and wire, then touched the key again, and every once in a while his frown would deepen and he'd twist his pliers around one of the pegs that held the wires taut. Sometimes he'd jam the rubber tools between wires, sometimes he'd stuff them with the fabric, and then he'd start all over again. It was a very long process, painstaking by the look of it, and eventually Dag slid nearer to watch him. 

"You should know how this works," he said gruffly, and Dag startled again at being addressed before she'd made any noise to indicate she was there. "Hold this." He handed one of the strange rubber-tipped tools to her, and she watched in silence as he kept up his work. It was more than an hour before he sat back on the bench again with a sigh.

"Sit. Try now."

Dag hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at Angharad for a split-second, then sat down to Coma's right so they were sharing the bench. She placed her fingers on the keys and pressed lightly: there was no particular melody, but Coma didn't seem bothered. He shifted so she could reach the full length of the piano until she'd tested each one, and finally nodded in satisfaction.

"Keep exploring it. Where's the pregnant one?"

"Angharad," she said sharply, stepping forward. Coma turned his head towards the sound of her voice, smiling.

"Been running like I said?"

"She's pregnant," Toast snapped. 

"Not long," Coma countered with inexplicable certainty, and Angharad looked revolted.

"How did you—where is she supposed to run, in circles?"

"If that thing's gonna die over a bit of exercise, you'd have a disappointed dad on your hands either way. Breathe deeply instead if that's all you can do, I don't care, just get those lungs working." He stood up. "Now where's the little one? Come here."

The rest of his time was spent with Cheedo alone, and he shooed away anyone else when they tried to intervene, leaving them to look on from beside Dag at the piano, tense and wary. He barked instructions Cheedo couldn't follow, her voice had limitations but he pressed right through them, he refused to demonstrate notes in his own raspy voice but was lightning fast at scolding Cheedo when her utterly untrained range disappointed him, which was often. When her voice was finally muffled by the threat of tears, he backed off, shaking his head, lips curled. 

"Practice. Back in two days."

* * *

The third visit was Capable's alone, though he made Dag sit at the piano anyway for the duration, and yet again he growled at Angharad to just breathe, "unless I have to show you what it's like to really use your lungs." The threat wasn't taken lightly, and Angharad joined Toast at what had become her designated sulking area during lessons, taking deep breaths and holding them for as long as she could, fuming all the while. 

Capable's lesson mostly consisted of watching Coma's fingers flick over the guitar strings with impossible speed, having the instrument thrust at her so she could mimic what he'd done, and being hissed at when she made a mistake. She refused to flinch when reprimanded, nor did she shudder every time he repositioned her fingers with his own. Eventually he slowed, he grew quieter, and let Capable pluck out a few chords at her own speed. Only then did his mouth twist and his head jerk in a nod.

"Back in two days."

* * *

The Dag's natural talent was apparent, but it turned out that for whatever reason, she grated on Coma as much as Cheedo did. "No confidence," he would snarl, slamming the fallboard shut and making her jump. 

"I've been practicing," she protested angrily. "Stretch my fingers every night—"

"And every day? Every hour? Hm?" Coma shook his head, teeth bared, and barked for Capable instead. She hastened to the piano, guitar in hand, eager to draw the attention from the simmering Dag, who was glaring at Coma like she'd really been stretching her fingers to fit them around his neck with room to spare. 

She played what she remembered for him, indeed a bit faster than she had at their last meeting, and it seemed to pacify him somewhat. He appeared to like questions too: his answers were abrupt and often harsh, and he hated any interruptions to even the simplest tunes, but he always answered.

As usual, he wandered off after a couple of hours with a promise to return in two days' time. Dag barely waited for the vault door to close before roaring in frustration.

"Stupid blind schlanger."

* * *

But Coma didn't return in two days, nor in three, and on the fourth day the wives were drawn to the wide paned window that took up the greater portion of the vault's back wall, called by the muffled thudding of war drums.

"Ha, there he is." The Dag pointed at him, her nose wrinkled. "Stands out like a blister in that ratty red thing of his."

"The Doof Wagon helps," Angharad said, watching Coma practically skip to his massive, hulking vehicle far below, and she could just make out his drummers clacking their sticks above their heads in salute as he clamored up to its stage with surprising agility. "There's no missing it."

"Maybe he'll get shot," Toast said hopefully, craning her neck to see.

But much to Toast's later dismay, Coma wasn't shot, nor maimed, nor burned, nor eviscerated, nor injured in any of the many other ways she'd proposed while the war party was out. In fact he was positively chipper the next time he visited another two days later, all grotesque grins and jittery fingers.

"Glorious raid, beauties," he crowed. "You should have heard it, you should have _heard_ it, it would have made you _tremble."_

"Another victory for your Immortan," Angharad said dully, staring dead-eyed at him in the way only she could, but it faded when she saw Coma shrug carelessly. 

"Victory, loss, long as you live to play another day. You been breathin' like I told you?"

* * *

It wasn't until nearly two months into their time together that Coma wasted any time on Angharad other than scolding her about her lung capacity and demonstrating breathing techniques that meant she had to stand in the wake of his stinking breath for minutes at a time. Once he caught her twirling the flute like a baton as he worked with Cheedo – presumably he'd heard the air whistle through it, and if he hadn't already shown himself to be preternaturally sensitive to sound time and time again, Angharad would have been shocked. He snatched it away and growled, "Didn't I tell you to melt this down? Useless. Disgrace." But he didn't give it back. Instead he pressed the keys absentmindedly as he returned to Cheedo and her scales, and for once he didn't disparage her to the point misery. She actually looked a bit proud of herself when he left that day, and Dag beamed at her, waving her over to the piano to see how many notes Cheedo could match with her voice.

* * *

It was odd for lessons to seem actually pleasant every once in a while, though Toast pointed out that just because something wasn't dreadful didn't mean it counted as pleasant. Dag had been making great strides and no longer halted after every missed note, and Coma had reminded Capable about her violin – presumably they'd be working with that next time. But when he strode in two days later bearing a knife and a wooden cane, he beckoned in silence for Angharad alone.

The temperature of the room shifted at once. Toast stood from her chair, hands balled into fists. Cheedo's eyes widened and she pressed closer to the Dag. Wood was a rare commodity, not to be squandered, and a long, hollow, pliable piece like this—

"He wouldn't beat you," Capable whispered to Angharad, who had already steeled herself. "You've been doing as you're told, he hasn't given you anything to practice!"

Coma stopped halfway across the vault, his face splitting into a wicked slash of a grin. _"Beat_ you? Ha! Your Immortan would cut off my fingertips, and then what would I do?" He brandished the knife. "And you already have scars enough, don't ya?" He laughed again, sauntering to the row of chairs to he side of the vault and dropping heavily into one, still chuckling. "Come here, come here."

Capable stuck to Angharad's side as she approached, but Coma was busy running his hands over the cane, testing its weight and thickness, his knife set down on the chair beside him. "Take that, got my own." He snatched a second knife from his boot and pointed it at them. "But I'll need it back. Can't have ya stabbing ol' Joe next time he comes for a romp, eh?" He rasped another laugh. "An' try not to stick in in my back while you're at it. Can't see you comin', you know."

Angharad picked up the knife and lowered herself down beside him, her eyes flicking from Coma to the cane and back again. Capable glanced at Toast as though to check to make sure she was really seeing this – had Coma just _handed_ a knife to a wife of the Immortan? An Immortan he respected so little that he referred to him as _ol' Joe?_

"Clarinet's a reed instrument," he began as though this were the most normal and casual of conversations. "Need a reed to make the sound. You'll need a good supply, and extra as a beginner. Reeds bein' somewhat hard to come by these days, I had to wait for this to dry out properly." He tapped the cane with the flat of his blade. "This is all we got for now, so don't waste. And do your best not to lose a finger over this, that blade's sharp, blood'll ruin the cane, and the Immortan won't forgive me." 

And for more than an hour, Coma and Angharad hunched over the brittle cane, splitting it apart into thinner segments, then carving them down to the proper width. It wasn't enough to just cut it – if a piece cracked after it'd already been cut, Coma would growl and slap it out of her hands. "Careless!" It was odd to Angharad that anyone connected to Joe would have a concept of wastefulness, but she'd also never handled anything like this cane before. The other women, overcome with disbelief at the peculiarity of the whole thing, gathered to watch. Cheedo thought to collect the cut reed blanks into a small basket, and she sat with her legs crossed at Angharad's feet to accept them. 

"Not finished," Coma said as Angharad massaged her aching hands after it looked to her like they certainly _were_ finished, surrounded by splintered cane and discarded blanks, Cheedo's basket full to the brim. "Have to sand and shape them. Next time. And if you value your life, you'll keep those safe and dry," he added with a menacing snarl at Cheedo, who drew back. Coma stifled a giggle and got to his feet.

* * *

Angharad's clarinet was torturous at first, shrieking and squeaking, and the noise put Coma in a most vicious mood. The worst by far was after the reeds had been finished: Coma showed Angharad how to blow into the instrument, with firm cheeks and stable breath, and he insisted that she try immediately after he'd demonstrated, same reed and all. But with practice, it soon gave way to perhaps the sweetest sound yet, one that very much resembled Angharad herself: strong, steady, lilting, enhancing the sound of anything else played alongside it. 

"Wish you hadn't fought me about that breathin' practice now?" Coma sneered, but it was clear he was pleased with her improvement.

Last to come was Capable's violin. Guitar was his obvious favorite, and as all the women slowly made progress and caught up to one another, he still spent the most time with Capable. His attentions were cut short one lesson when he got carried away demonstrating a riff he'd performed on the Doof Wagon during one raid or another (Coma was not a very effective storyteller), and the A string snapped with a resounding twang. Coma's face fell at once, he wilted, gingerly handing the guitar back to Capable and mumbling that he'd bring a replacement next time and show her how to restring it. 

His heartbreak was fleeting though, and he called for the violin instead. "I have rosin," he explained as Capable handed it to him, followed by the bow, as though any of them would have the slightest idea what he was talking about. "Not here. Like reeds, tough to come by. Don't expect a miracle." But it wasn't often that Coma gave deliberate demonstrations unless it was to relive some war story, so this was a welcome change, and even Toast shifted to face him better as he positioned the violin beneath his chin.

The music that poured forth from his bowstrings was nothing like what he'd played for them during his first visit, nor remotely close to the weak, shaky notes Capable had drawn out when she and Miss Giddy tested it. His shoulders dipped fluidly with the melody, fingers teasing out delicate vibrato notes with careless ease, filling the room with a smooth, sweet tune that laid their limbs with warmth, relaxing their shoulders and furrowed brows.

"Like mother's milk," Dag whispered to Cheedo, eyes wide. It was nearly impossible to believe _this_ was someone who bore a Warrior title, someone who took no greater pleasure than in stomping out notes so harsh that they made his fingers bleed, incinerating anyone foolish enough to create an interruption. 

The spell was brief, no more than two minutes, and when Coma lowered his bow, the wives were silent. He didn't await applause, merely handed the violin back to Capable, who had to consciously close her mouth.

"Back in two days."

"A great shame, isn't it?" Miss Giddy said heavily once Coma had gone, staring at the vault door after him. "That's a History Man in his own right, make no mistake."

* * *

The beauties improved, and Coma's visits began to taper off. The song of war called, and he was bound to obey. "Back in two days" became "back in a week," then simply "back soon." They'd been puzzling out sheet music on their own, he could hear the rustling of pages, and on more than one occasion he had to dismiss their efforts with a disdainful gnash of teeth. No creativity in mimicry. But his lips betrayed him when they proved their progress with melodies he hadn't taught them, and even the smallest one hadn't needed scolding or scaring in more than a month. The skinny one had been teaching the unsuitable one in secret, and the latter seemed to take great vindictive pleasure in proving him wrong. She'd get no praise from him, she was dreadful, just as he'd predicted, but her persistence made him laugh.

One day, without warning, they were gone. Stolen away by the Imperator that creaked like metal and smelled like it too. Joe was irate. Coma was delighted. Try as he might, he'd never been permitted to show them his Doof Wagon. "Teach them beauty, not war," Joe had dismissed him every time, which always made Coma snicker. Didn't the old man know they were one in the same? Maybe Furiosa knew, and that's why she had taken them away.

There was no room for the piano on the Doof Wagon and no time to fetch the other instruments anyway. He had hoped to strap them all up alongside his guitar and call to each one of them, and it was his only regret as his drummers clacked their drumsticks above their heads, cheering for him as he bounded to his stage. The beauties would have to make do with his favorite, his guitar, his one and only. A true war song, written just for them. His greatest gift yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, the wives obviously didn't teach themselves how to play the instruments we see in the Furiosa comic, did they? I so deeply wanted to write Coma as the grotesque weirdo he is, stinking, inarticulate, inexplicably leering, and intentionally unsettling, but also open the door for a mild Citadel "counterculture": he'd play for anyone, deliver any message on anyone's behalf, warlord or war pup, as long as he has a captive audience and the means to do so. 
> 
> The violin piece Coma plays for the wives is [Henry Purcell's rondeau composed for Abdelazar](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VVivtti-n-w).


End file.
